Beta: Weird Alfie

Disclaimer: Most of this is Tolkien’s. I make no money from this.

Written for Challenge #6 at Julie_Fianna_Archive.
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The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the wary trees. The forest was rife with fear. Orcs were out there, waiting for him. At least 20 or 30 of them had made it across the borders past the guards. How could the patrol have been so lax? His brother Haldir the Captain of the March Wardens would be hearing about this, that was for sure!

Rumil had been bathing in the river, taking a well earned break from his many duties as commander of the March Wardens. Having just dried off and dressed, he hadn’t yet reclaimed his sword and now it may well be too late. But if he was careful and was quiet, perhaps he could get to it in time. Slinking from tree to tree, he crept around the clearing to the rock where his sword lay. Fortunately, he had mastered the art of moving through the forest totally unobserved by all but the keenest of eyes. Within moments, he had one hand around the hilt and the other on the sheath. In one fluid movement, he tore the sword free, the naked blade glistening dangerously in the dappled sunlight. The fate of his beloved Golden Wood lay in the strength of his steel and the might of his arm!

He barely had time to bring the weapon to the ready with both hands on the hilt when the first orc attacked. Swinging the blade to the right, he neatly decapitated the first orc. Whipping the sword in a high arc, he slashed the ugly face of the next attacker and then flipped the blade low in a backward thrust and stabbed the next one in the gut as it raised its weapon to slash his back. Whirling around, he cut the arms off of two more, but then he met the steel of another of the foul creatures. Knocked off balance, he fell to his knees. He kicked the feet out from under the heinous beast and it fell over backward. Lunging forward, he stabbed it in the chest, the black blood spewing forth. Struggling to his feet again, the battle continued to rage as he slashed, cut, stabbed and hacked his way through the army of invaders.

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Unbeknownst to Commander Rumil of the March Wardens of Lothlorien, his adar and elder brother watched from several paces away.

“The boy has my sword again,” his irritated adar complained. “I have told him not to touch it without my permission. I swear he will not sit down for a week when I get finished with him!”

Haldir grabbed his father’s arm, restraining him. “Adar, please wait,” he begged on his little brother’s behalf. “He has been watching every training session you and I have had. He is trying so hard to imitate every move you have taught me.”

Turning to look his adar in the eyes, he asked, “Adar, do you not remember your own dance of desire when you lusted after your adar’s sword and finally got to swish it around so you could be big and powerful just like him?”

His adar glared at Rumil for a few moments more then sighed heavily, shaking his head. “All right, Haldir. I suppose it would not hurt if I let him play for a little bit longer.”

Haldir smiled then immediately winced as Rumil swung wide, overbalancing from the weight of a sword far too large for him and fell over yet again. Judging from the expression on his brother’s face, the little warrior was going to have a lot of bruises in the morning.

“You do realize that if he hurts himself, your naneth is going to be furious with us,” his adar commented.

Haldir shrugged his shoulders, then chuckled in amusement. “But Adar, it is so much fun watching him slay imaginary orcs, and he will sleep very well tonight. I think it will be worth enduring naneth’s displeasure when we bring him home bruised.”

Grinning broadly, his adar shook his head in mock despair. “I have taught you too well, my son.”